Impinge but with a sense of loss
the hues that permeate our thoughts
A fronds, its splits,
divisions, where the ladder sits.
The transient to higher thought,
warped origins from trunks of innocence
Stem from a whiter branch maybe.
Pansies float like butterflies,
the mind of art that breeds disguise.
A shadow of a duck that floats,
a sign to raise our hopes
Washed up on the synoptic low.
Hollywoods, star staircase empty now,
where high aspirations sit upon a bough,
Tabby cat will howl to no avail
and nature bows to only gales
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